Angels' midnight
by RonWeasleysGirl
Summary: Harry and Ron go the woods at midnight. Soppy SLASH from Harry's POV.


Author: Ron Weasley's Girl  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Harry and Ron go to the woods at midnight – told from Harry's POV  
  
Disclaimer: Harry and Ron are the property of JKR, I just borrow them to make them all happy.  
  
WARNINGS. THIS IS SLASH; HOT BOY- ON- BOY ACTION!  
  
Feedback: Hey, people, if you survived all the soppiness and still even like it, please drop me a line.  
  
  
  
Faster, hurry, faster!  
  
Just faster, so no-one will be able to follow us.  
  
We run till we're breathless and listen nervously for a betraying sound of a possible persuer.  
  
Then we face each other and start to laugh, feeling bold and daring and crazy and free on sneaking out of the castle at night into the forest.  
  
And above all so very young.  
  
For the first time, I seem to understand what it really means to be young and its power hits me with almost unbearable force.  
  
It pulsates through my veins and makes me feel brimming with life, about to burst from vitality.  
  
Invincible.  
  
Our laughter disappears into the night and we grow silent, almost awed, as we take in our environment and we sit down on the moss-covered ground near the lake, which lies black between dark firs, black apart from a single streak of moonlight.  
  
White-glowing sea-roses compete with the reflection of the stars, and fir cones, which whip on the dark water, decorate the calm, almost mirror- smooth surface.  
  
Only a mild summer breath ripples and rushes it slightly.  
  
With its rustling and whispering trees rocking in the wind and the full moon shining high above their tops, the forest is enchanted tonight.  
  
My eyes wander over the pines and spruces, over bilberry brushwood and over all those magic other plants I can't name, but only admire solemnly.  
  
Ron magically produces some torches, lights them and sticks them in the earth and they blaze and burn and reflect in his eyes.  
  
  
  
I feel myself smiling fondly – who would've thought he has a sense for something like that?- and quickly look at him in the torchlight and I wonder why I do it secretly.  
  
What's wrong with looking at my best friend in the world?  
  
Why do I blush?  
  
It's not that I have ogled him!  
  
/Sure?/  
  
I see him smiling at me weakly, almost guiltily as if he's embarrassed, too, from looking at me, and he hurriedly dedicates his whole attention to the torches again, pushing them deeper into the humid moss.  
  
  
  
I feel filled to the brim with something, something so very beautiful, so big, that it goes far beyond my understanding.  
  
Maybe it is the silence in the woods, full of magic, full of wondrous and ancient things, hiding secrets...  
  
Or maybe something else that makes me feel this way?  
  
Moon-struck?  
  
Heat stroke?  
  
//Or...//  
  
I just feel that I need to say something  
  
I really should say something now, some dry comment about how we're sitting here, like two silly lovers having a break on a midnight's stroll, on a moonlit summer's night, oh my, with all the trimmings..  
  
Just something that makes him laugh, so he won't think that I maybe think that he..I...we...  
  
Oh my God, but I can't think of anything.  
  
I just stare at the glittering surface of the lake and listen to the cracking of the fire.  
  
I don't understand that.  
  
We just have been laughing.  
  
We were just so proud of ourselves.  
  
Two boys who couldn't wait to pit their strengths.  
  
Why do I then feel paralysed now?  
  
"Odd night, eh?", he suddenly says and I nod although I know he can't see it since he's facing the opposite bank of the pond, where fog limits our sight into the night, rising woolly and grey and sweeping in the dark depths of the forest.  
  
  
  
I venture a sidelong glance at Ron and he meets it immediately.  
  
An enormous lump grows in my throat.  
  
I can see that his pupils are dilated, so very large in those so very large clear blue eyes, which form a beaming contrast to the midnight-coloured sky.  
  
And a picture rises before my mind's eye.  
  
I feel like a secret furtively slips from hand to hand and I try to read in his eyes what we just shared.  
  
But I only feel the picture inside of me taking shape.  
  
I wish I could gently lay him down, run my finger through his hair and be above him like we were once after we had been wrestling childishly, where I had perceived this tiny tickle in my stomach for the first time, as if I had accidentally swallowed a feather.  
  
I want to be like that again, seeing him lie under me.  
  
What would be going to happen then, I don't know.  
  
There's only this picture.  
  
What's going on with him?  
  
Why doesn't he speak?  
  
He only watches me..  
  
//...as if waiting for me to make the first move//  
  
  
  
Why does he breathe differently, a little tremblingly and faster?  
  
And why do I?.  
  
I stare back and feel an anxiety rise...but a good one...  
  
I...I don't know what I feel.  
  
"Ron, what's happening?", I try to say, but all that comes out is a whisper.  
  
"I don't know", he breathes and I could swear he was not that close just a second ago.  
  
"Maybe it's a spell.", I helplessly try to explain this kind of daze, in which only the two of us seem to exist.  
  
  
  
//His spell//  
  
And in which I only seem to exist by sitting here, and watching him and trembling.  
  
  
  
"Harry."  
  
Oh my God.  
  
I feel his hand in my face and I tremble even more.  
  
"Ron.", I croak.  
  
Where has my voice gone?  
  
I feel my lids become heavy, as if I'm incredibly tired.  
  
But I'm anything but tired.  
  
My stomach tickles like mad and I guess, I must be close to hyperventilating now.  
  
His fingers run through the short hair of my nape and I feel a gentle pressure, pulling me...where?  
  
A jolt of panic stabs through me, as I feel his face come closer and I rest my head on Ron's chest, feeling his free arm go round my waist.  
  
"Ron, what are you doing?", I breath.  
  
"I don't know.", he answers again.  
  
I can smell his scent..intoxicating orange scent... sending shivers into places that I never knew could be affected by just being held and inhale someone's fragrance.  
  
I go all dizzy and try to stop breathing, because I'm already high, from him, and more of this and...and what?  
  
Isn't this Ron, my best friend?  
  
Just my best friend?  
  
Or is it because of that?  
  
But it's not just his scent.  
  
It's feeling his hand on my back, light, unmoving.  
  
Ron's chest heaving under my forehead while his cool hand rests on my cheek..  
  
A shadow of the skin of his neck against my cheek, as I stop holding my breath and move my head to will the oxygen into my lungs, as if I could breathe in some understanding for what's going on.  
  
How can he be cool now?  
  
I'm burning...  
  
I feel my lips almost touch his neck, keeping them away rather by shyness than will power...  
  
His hands run up my back now, making me shiver and whimper.  
  
His large, delicate hands...so beautiful...touching me through thin summer clothing...  
  
This is Ron, my best friend...  
  
Much too close for a best friend.  
  
I'm enjoying this far too much for a best friend...  
  
"Ron, we shouldn't..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We shouldn't do that..."  
  
I prove my own words wrong as I rub my nose to the curve of his nape, my parted lips hovering above the creamy freckled revealed place of skin.  
  
I shouldn't...  
  
I should...  
  
He lifts me up.  
  
He's strong and I'm still way on the thin side.  
  
He can easily lift me.  
  
He places me on his lap and I don't dare to meet his eyes as I hear him breath in a smoky voice that is completely unfamiliar but so, so amazing to my ears.  
  
"We're just holding..."  
  
Oh Ron.  
  
Such a liar you are.  
  
"We shouldn't...", I try again, trying to ignore his unhurried hands, everywhere where decency only just allows it, but ending up arching into them.  
  
It feels so good.  
  
He's so gentle.  
  
"It's wrong...", I mumble into the fabric of his shirt and close my eyes.  
  
My heart is thundering and my head feels as if it's filled with fog or cotton wool.  
  
"Does it feel wrong?"; I hear him sigh.  
  
"Does it feel wrong, Har'?"  
  
I shake my head.  
  
I'm not myself anymore.  
  
//Or do I just start to be it?//  
  
I hear and feel his hot breathing in my ear.  
  
I look up and look into his eyes again, watching him lay down on his back, leaving me straddling him.  
  
I start my hyperventilation again as he looks up to me, exactly like he did on that very day when we had been wrestling but yet completely different now.  
  
He holds eye-contact for eternity and I see him swallow hard.  
  
"Har' "  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you want...?"  
  
"What...?"  
  
We're both panting, totally helpless.  
  
"Kiss me, Harry.", he finally begs me, his eyes full of invitation.  
  
What is this all about?  
  
I'm clueless.  
  
Here I am with my best friend asking me to...this cannot be.  
  
I feel his hand reach for my cheek again, while his other long arm gently encircles my waist again, gently pulling me near, giving me every chance to pull back.  
  
I make a childlike sound, almost a sob, as I let him pull me down to him.  
  
I rest my head on his chest again and try to collect my thoughts.  
  
"What's happening?", I repeat.  
  
"I just wanna hold you.", Ron whispers and I answer with another weak sound.  
  
He's lying again.  
  
//And I hope he is//  
  
He waits patiently for me to digest the situation in which we just slid.  
  
As I lift finally lift my head slightly and look at him again, seeking answers in his lovely face...  
  
His lovely face, yes.  
  
He's gorgeous.  
  
As beautiful as sin itself.  
  
Why haven't I noticed before?  
  
"Don't look at me like that.", he suddenly breathes against my mouth before I can notice how long I had stared.  
  
"Why?", I whisper back  
  
"Because it's dangerous.", he answers and I can watch his blue eyes darken.  
  
"It makes me want more than friendship from you.", he continues and his eyes go literally black at this.  
  
//Oh my God//  
  
A low moan escapes me and I lower my head and press my lips on this full pink inviting mouth and feel...I don't know...my bones melt..my heart explode...a nose-dive through time and space...the world stand still.  
  
But then I pull back, because I don't know what is going to happen when it will start to rotate again tomorrow... will this be between us?  
  
He reads the doubts in my eyes.  
  
"This is not a game, Harry.", he rasps and I for the first time realise he's as mixed up as I am. "You confuse me. You're too much for me. You're what I want. Am I what –you- want?"  
  
I am too stunned to even nod, but when he kisses me this time, the nose- dive starts again, direction future.  
  
Suddenly his tongue is in my mouth and it is the most erotic sensation I have ever felt.  
  
But only until I feel his hands under my T-shirt.  
  
I open my mouth, but my moan gets stuck halfway in my throat, because he shoves his hands farther, his tender palms on my ribs and higher, above my thundering heartbeat.  
  
I catch his gaze and all of a sudden impulse press his hand firmly on this very spot.  
  
I want him to feel what he's doing to me, feeling an embarrassed, nervous smile ghost over my face at the romantic gesture, as he looks at me.  
  
He doesn't seem to mind.  
  
His eyes are clouded from heavy emotion as they lower to were my hand is holding his.  
  
"You know, when I first saw you, I already knew, there was something, inside of you...something I thought that I would never find."  
  
Who would've guessed that he can say this without having the fear of being called a romantic fool?  
  
And God, I love the way his voice sounds tonight, throaty, loaded, burningly close and almost shockingly intimate, everything I had never known he could be.  
  
To me.  
  
With me.  
  
Because of me.  
  
Had I really never?  
  
I am not so sure about that suddenly.  
  
And I kiss him again, this time more confidently, longing to feel the velvet touch of his tongue against mine again, this sensual feeling of soft wet heat causing me to shiver, even more so as his hands start their journey again, touching, caressing, petting, and I feel them on my waist, my belly, my chest, my back and I writhe, towards them...  
  
//More//  
  
"They way you move, Harry...", he sighs before slowly lifting my shirt, his eyes asking permission.  
  
How he sits there in the torchlight, with hot skin and hot eyes, how can I not let him?  
  
So I don't defend myself as he lifts it a bit higher and starts to plant kisses on my chest, tickling me with his breath as he groans against my exposed skin.  
  
I can feel his hands on my ribs.  
  
He shouldn't touch me like that.  
  
We're moving too fast.  
  
That we're moving at all is wrong.  
  
Feeling him that close is the very best experience in my whole life, and I can feel myself react so hard, but it just -can't- be right.  
  
I intertwine my fingers with this thick hair-it's so very soft and all I want is run my fingers through it, caress it, smell it – and pull him away.  
  
"Ron, this is wrong.", I say aloud, my voice not quite steady and while I'm saying it, it sounds so very much like a lie to me.  
  
And I try to correct myself as I see the hurt in his eyes : "Ron, it's just that we...we just shouldn't...", but he has frozen and after a moment of shock his trembling hands gently lift me down from his body.  
  
I awkwardly sit there, my cheeks burning from what we just did and my body pulsating for to do it again, some more, not daring to look at Ron, who avoids looking at me as well.  
  
"Sorry, Ron, but..."  
  
He interrupts me and stands up, still not looking at me.  
  
"Maybe we'd better go inside. It's very late."  
  
"No, I don't want to go...", I hear myself say, sounding like a stubborn child.  
  
Now he looks at me and I'm not sure if he'll throttle or kiss me senseless in the next moment..  
  
Then his expression softens and he kneels before me.  
  
"Just tell me...-why- did you just kiss me, Harry?", he whispers and places his hands on my drawn up knees.  
  
I gesture helplessly as if I could catch an explanation in the air.  
  
"Because you wanted to?"  
  
I nod and start to cry.  
  
He sighs and smiles a little, as he brushes the tears away.  
  
"Harry, don't, please don't..."  
  
But I don't stop and as he takes me in his arms again, I don't know whether I'm really crying because of this clueless-and helplessness, or if it's simply slush.  
  
Is this really wrong?  
  
This is supposed to be wrong?  
  
Why does it feel so good then to be in his arms?  
  
"We can forget about what just happened. We'll never mention it again, if it bothers you so much.", Ron desperately tries to calm me, but I shake my head against his tear-soaked shirt.  
  
"How you changed my world, Ron, you'll never know...", I sob, feeling the need to tell him that now, in this very moment, because I am afraid that I might never again find the courage and eloquence to do it another time. "I'm different now, you helped me grow...know what I mean?", I add, a little afraid, that he thinks that I've finally gone mental.  
  
But he nods and strokes my back.  
  
"Nothing means more to me than what we share, Harry. So please don't let this come between us. I just...you were so very beautiful..."  
  
His next words are spoken rather to himself, barely audible but not soft enough for me to miss them.  
  
"So make-you-mineable."  
  
This is enough to make me cry even more, but at the same time, I start to kiss him again, passionately, impetuously, and dare to touch him back, learning within seconds how to make him feel good..  
  
As I let him breathe between kisses, I hear him mumble my name and other words, seeking assurance once, twice, three times, if I'm okay, if I'm sure.  
  
I don't know if I'm okay.  
  
Nor do I know if I'm entirely sure or aware of what we're doing.  
  
I just realise that I'm pretty much in love.  
  
Have been for ages probably.  
  
And this leaves no room for second thoughts.  
  
Ron lays me down again on my back, very gently as if I'm something very vulnerable and in need of protection, as if he could hurt me with the tiniest pressure of his hands, like a freshly hatched chicken maybe or a baby kitten.  
  
Soothing, he brushes the strand of hair from my forehead and then lies down next to me, kissing me , his hands soon disappearing under my shirt again and I shiver from the touch of his warm hands.  
  
He tries to undress me again, but not before asking me again, only with his eyes, but I can read it like I always could: "Do you want this?"  
  
I take off his shirt as well and all of a sudden I feel miserable and unsure again, and shame heats my cheeks as I see him there next to me, still a little lanky, yes, but his chest broad, his shoulders prominent, and all over so tender and soft, whereas I am nothing but skin and bone.  
  
Yeah, I want this, but...  
  
"I'm so ugly.", I clumsily apologise and feel the tears well up my eyes again.  
  
I don't dare to look at him, afraid to see a hint of disappointment inside of them due to this, which might not be able to compete with his imagination.  
  
He's still gentle with me, but a bit of the old Ron, like I would've defined him until half an hour ago, appears all of a sudden, as he determinedly cups my chin and makes me meet his eyes.  
  
"Harry Potter, listen to me.", he whispers with deepest conviction, stressing every word, while his hand lazily travels over my body. "Will you please admit that you just uttered absolute nonsense?"  
  
I only shrug abashedly, my eyes still trying to escape his intense gaze and still horribly uncomfortable.  
  
Is he saying this only to not hurt me?  
  
To not hurt Harry Potter, who has gone through so much anyway?  
  
"All that you're just thinking couldn't be more wrong, Har'."  
  
He crawls above me on his knees and hands and his eyes trail over my body. I can almost feel them, searing, longing, and I shiver again.  
  
"You're so beautiful, baby. So very beautiful, amazing, tremendous. So very perfect from the end of your hair...", and he softly blows into my hair, "...to the soles of your feet!"  
  
I gasp as he viciously attacks my bare feet with his fingers before I suffer a fit of giggles.  
  
"Ron, no...", I scream, trying to stop him from tickling me.  
  
Panting and desperately trying not to choke on my laughter, I wrestle for control, until I can grab his wrists and knock him over on his back.  
  
It takes a while till our laughter subsides, but then we fall serious again and he pulls me on top of him and I surrender, sighing.  
  
"Now, that's much better.", he murmurs into my ear, "I don't want you to ever cry again because of me. Do you hear?"  
  
We kiss again and it's familiar now to me, not less intoxicating though.  
  
"And you are beautiful, love, can't say it enough times..."  
  
Our kisses become hotter again.  
  
We kiss and touch, from time to time interrupted by my need to look at him for a moment to receive a reassuring smile and his soft words.  
  
"So very amazing, my love, you have no idea.."  
  
He presses me close to him and I moan.  
  
"Can you feel how much I want you?"; I hear him murmur and oh yes, I can, even more so, as he grabs my hips and starts to shift me and rub me lightly against his groin.  
  
"I want you so bad, Harry."  
  
I trust him with my life, and it feels so very healing to be with him like that, but still I am a bit shocked at the novelty of this experience, the intimacy, of the way his passion suddenly shifts a gear higher.  
  
  
  
I know he would never hurt me, but I nonethless tense, because something irrational inside of me expects him to grow more vehement, more insistent when his hormones would take the lead, and then it wouldn't be about him and me anymore, just about...  
  
  
  
//Please, don't, Ron...//  
  
  
  
...but he stays as gentle and sweet as before and I relax as I catch his gaze again, eyes wide open and full of love and tenderness and I realise this –is- about me, only about me.  
  
His hands slide in the pockets on the back of my jeans and he presses me to him, a slight bit harder, but I'm not afraid anymore.  
  
Because this is –Ron-.  
  
I lean down and kiss his displayed throat as he throws his head back and moans and this time –I- push my hips to where I can feel a pulsing erection.  
  
He moans some more as I discover the sensitive skin of his neck, the place behind his ear and he whimpers as I push the tip of my tongue into it.  
  
"God, Harry..."  
  
My mind is in a complete haze, and judging from the way he looks at me, panting slightly, so is his, as we take off each other pants.  
  
Our hands are clumsy and nervous and it is difficult in our position and we have to shift awkwardly, laughing a bit and blushing, but in the end we are only in our boxers and our hearts in our mouths.  
  
I grow a little uncomfortable again as his eyes glide over my whole body.  
  
Did he notice my match-legs?  
  
"I love you so much, Harry. I would do anything for you."  
  
Another big lump in my throat, another incredible effort not to start to cry again, another time my voice ridiculously high-pitched as I manage an "I love you, too, Ron."  
  
The last coherent words spoken.  
  
The rest only consists of murmurs and whispers, senseless endearments, moans and sighs.  
  
Our boxers come off as well and as he takes the lead and flips me on my back, I willingly surrender, clinging to his frame, clutching into the mayhem of his thick red hair, as he starts to move, on top of me.  
  
I am inexperienced, and so is he, but all I need to know is that it feels just perfectly right and wonderful to have him above me, watching his angelic features contort from pleasure and light up with love, and feeling the proof of his arousal against my own.  
  
I can hear and feel us get closer and closer, and as I look into his face as he comes and feel it happen down there, I can't help but do it again, may it be silly or sentimental as hell.  
  
I just can't help that the tears flood my face, as I come myself.  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
